


Helping Hands

by Geonn



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Episode: s01e06 The Fix, Exhibitionism, F/M, Finger Sucking, Hand Kink, Masturbation, Roughness, Sexual Fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-22
Updated: 2012-05-22
Packaged: 2017-11-05 20:32:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/410730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Geonn/pseuds/Geonn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zoe has a fixation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Helping Hands

Zoe wanted to make love to John's hands.

The rest of him was fine, of course. Absolutely perfect, in fact. His face looked carved in stone, the touch of gray at his temple giving him gravitas. He moved with grace uncommon for a man his size. He was a ghost, but there was no denying his presence when he was standing just a centimeter away. Not touching, but close enough that she could feel him even through the layers they wore. Broad shoulders, tall, dominating... oh, no, there was nothing wrong with the entire package.

But Zoe had a tendency to fixate on the first thing she noticed in a lover. With some it was their eyes. A spider's web of crow's feet, or a curve of the eyebrow. Sometimes it was a mouth. She could spend an hour tracing someone's lips with her tongue. She had worshipped a ballerina's feet from sunset to sunrise, both of them succumbing to exhaustion moments after Zoe finally let her come.

With John Reese, she noticed his hands first. The way they gripped the steering wheel, the assurance with which he guided the car... She watched as he occasionally loosened his grip to let the wheel spin, only lightly brushing against his palm before he tightened his fingers again. 

The blankets were pushed down past her knees, her nightgown pulled taut over her thighs. The heel of her right hand was pressed against her mound, her fingers curled down as she pressed against it. She pictured John's fingers, the military-crisp cut of his cuff, the shiny buttons of his coat. He was a soldier, but he took care of his fingernails. They were trimmed, clean. She would bite the tip first to let him know she wasn't totally tender, and she could almost see that maddening small smile on his lips as she opened her lips wider and took his forefinger into her mouth.

She would hold his wrist with her left hand, the one currently brushing up and down her inner thigh, closer and closer to the hem of her nightgown. One shoulder strap was down, the material folded so that it almost, but not quite, revealed her nipple. She rocked her hips against her hand, holding it still as she moved her body against it. Her breathing was rough as she imagined her thumb pressing against John's pulse, her tongue slipping across the width of his finger.

Then the middle finger. Oh, the symbolism of that as it slides between her bright red lips. She would take it fully, slowly pulling back past the knuckle and the nail and before popping her lips against the tip of it. Her tongue would sweep across and break the line of saliva connecting her mouth to his finger, and she would flick her tongue over the tip in a crude parody of another act.

His wedding finger would be taken quickly, wetted and released, and she would move on to the last and smallest finger. She would kiss it from knuckle to tip. She would curl her tongue around it, close her lips, move her head to and fro, and finally worry the flesh with her teeth to mark him.

Zoe lifted her nightgown, exposing her sex to the night. She wet her own fingers in the manner she had just mentally described to herself, eyes open just enough so she could see the moonlight glistening on them as she held the hand in front of her face. She looked toward the window. Was he out there somewhere? In the night? Watching with his thousand eyes?

"Are you watching this, John?"

She moved her hand down between her legs. She closed her eyes and bit her lip as she teased her wet sex. The middle two fingers slid inside easily; the third followed and she folded her palm to get the fourth inside. It was his hand when she began to thrust, lifting her shoulders up as she met her hand. Her other hand pushed her nightgown out of the way and cupped her breast. She knew he would start tender, but she would growl, eyes flashing with desire, and she'd say, "I'm not glass, John."

Zoe pinched her nipple and cried out. Oh, yes. Once he'd been given the okay, he would truly take her. She thrashed at the thought, digging her heels and shoulders into the mattress as her hips rose toward the ceiling. She came with a groan, sinking back down to the mattress, the blankets tangled and tied around her ankles as she turned her head and lazily looked out the window.

She hoped he had been watching. She hoped those magnificent hands of his were wrapped around his cock as he'd watched her. She pushed herself up onto her elbows, not bothering to cover herself as she scanned the neighboring rooftops. 

"Good night, John," she whispered. "Wherever you are."

She lay back down and pulled the strap up, tugged her nightgown down to restore her modesty, and she crossed her hands over her stomach. She smiled at the ceiling and made a decision.

Tomorrow night she would focus on his chest.


End file.
